chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things


bookshelvesBooks intoxicate me. They ignite an insatiable hunger, an unquenchable lust to consume, to absorb all that they contain. I crave books as objects, as places, as experiences, as evidence. I like the bright scent of fresh ink, but I can also embrace a book that is a little musty, well-used, with its turned page corners and underlinings, scrawled notes and abandoned bookmarks, its coffee rings and pencil smudges.

I am inspired by books individually and in quantity. I’m dazzled by the photos on bookshelf porn. I wish for a second story on my house solely to have a Levitate staircase.

Fiction, history, poetry, cookbooks, biography, language, design, art. I want all the books in the bookstore, in the catalogue, in the library. I want to linger over them in the cocoon of my down comforter, under a palm tree on a tropical beach, riding a train through the night. I want to read faster, understand better, recall more. I want books page by delicious page, and by osmosis: through my hands, tucked under my pillow, through the satchel gripped under my arm.

Whatever the future holds for the printed word, I am grateful to live in a time and a place that is bursting with books.

3 responses to “books

  1. tomwisk January 6, 2012 at 1:03 pm

    Good use for otherwise unused space. Love books. Can’t imagine a world without them. Where else can you leave your body and travel to other times and spaces?

  2. Cupcake Murphy January 6, 2012 at 7:06 pm

    Sometimes I have to have a conversation with myself before I go into a book store. I always forget that conversation when I’m in the middle of all those shelves of pages of words.

  3. jik January 7, 2012 at 8:13 am

    the addict’s lament…

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